Circumstantial
by Riza's Cupcakes
Summary: Someone wants the Fuhrer dead and General Roy Mustang heads the list of suspects. It's up to his subordinates, Hawkeye and Havoc, to find the truth. But first, they have to find him.
1. Chapter 1

**I own nothing and I'd like to thank interitedjeans for betaing. **

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Steam swirled up from Major Hawkeye's coffee as she skimmed over the hastily filed paperwork. General Roy Mustang's handwriting had grown sloppier than usual in his impatience to meet with the Fuhrer. Frowning, Hawkeye straightened the edges and set the stack aside. With Mustang's work complete, she moved on to her own. A sense of routine settled over her as she read and initialed supply requisitions and requests for leave and she allowed her mind a moment to wander. Two months had passed since she and Mustang had returned to Eastern Command, yet she swore she could still feel the dust of Ishval, gritty in her mouth. Perhaps the memory was simply at the front of her mind with Mustang delivering his report on their success elsewhere in the building. He had offered to bring her along, but her sense of duty told her to stay behind and finish her work. Even with Grumman sitting behind the desk, she didn't feel entirely comfortable in his office. Years after King Bradley's death and she still felt his eyes back alongside those of the men she had killed.

Her pen ran out of ink and she rifled through the drawer in search of another. As her fingers closed around it, a shot rang out. She froze. Another shot. The pen fell from her hand. With a hand on her gun, she raced to the door and threw it open, hoping that she wasn't too late already. Another shot. Some bodyguard she was, letting Mustang out of her sight on the one day some bastard decided to open fire at Headquarters.

She raced down the hallway, past doors cracked open enough for officers to peer out. Cursing herself for being reckless, she willed her legs to move faster, her heart to beat steadier. It wouldn't do to lose her composure at a time like this. After what felt like ages, she reached the Fuhrer's office, the door ajar. "Major Hawkeye!" Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong's deep voice echoed through the hall behind her and Hawkeye froze.

"Sir," she said respectfully, turning and saluting. "I assume you heard them too?"

He nodded as Lieutenant Ross raced around the corner after him, Sargent Brosh in tow. "We came as fast as we could," she said, standing at attention.

"Maybe you should wait out here, Major," Armstrong said, looking at Hawkeye with concern as Ross and Brosh maneuvered beside the door.

"I'm fine," she protested. No matter what sight might greet them in the office, she had to see this through. She drew her gun and looked to Armstrong.

He gave a short nod and the four officers stepped cautiously into the office, ready to fight if the shooter remained hidden somewhere inside. But the room was deserted, apart from the Fuhrer, who lay slumped back across his desk, as though he had been standing in front of it before the attack. Hawkeye and Armstrong rushed to his side, the former returning her weapon to its holster. "Are you alright, sir?" Hawkeye asked, trying to fight back panic as she realized Mustang was nowhere to be seen. As carefully as she could, she felt the Fuhrer's wrist for a pulse. "He's alive at least."

Armstrong reached for the phone and dialed the hospital. His words hardly registered in Hawkeye's brain as she examined the injured man before her: exit and entry wounds indicated one bullet had gone through his left arm, the other through his abdomen. If that one had been even one inch to the right, he would be dead. She looked desperately around the room for the third bullet and found it lodged high in the shatter-proof window behind the desk. Mustang must have escaped unharmed, but she didn't allow herself relief just yet. Grumman's condition was critical, and whole or not, her General was nowhere to be seen. Without waiting for a word from Armstrong, she signaled for Ross and the two of them moved the wounded Fuhrer to the floor.

"They're on the way." Armstrong set the phone on the receiver, eyes wavering with sympathy for the broken man between them. Before Hawkeye could ask what he was doing, his shirt was off and the sleeves removed to form makeshift bandages. Of course, she realized. They had to do something to staunch the bleeding, even if the bandages were less than ideal.

"Do we have any leads on who might have done this?" Hawkeye asked as she tied a strip of fabric around Grumman's upper arm.

Armstrong regarded her sadly. "Major, I would have been here sooner, but I ran into Captain Arado, chasing the man he saw fleeing. I hate to tell you this, but you know General Mustang was the last person in here."

Using the desk to steady herself, Hawkeye gave him a curt nod. She had expected someone to say it eventually, even if she couldn't believe it herself. How could she? The Mustang she knew wouldn't have attempted to murder his own friend. And when he did have to kill, he preferred to use alchemy. She squeezed her eyes shut. It might have been different before, but now he could wear gloves with ignition cloth without anyone realizing. He didn't need the transmutation circle anymore. And she had only ever known him to use a gun in the rain. But with the painfully bright morning sun streaming through the open curtains, she shook the idea from her head. It wasn't him, and she would stand by that unless he pleaded guilty of his own volition.

"Just because someone saw him running away, he's our killer?" Lieutenant Ross piped up dubiously. Grateful, Hawkeye turned to look at the other woman and nodded in approval.

"Arado might have seen him run past," she agreed, tapping her chin thoughtfully. "But there's a chance he was in pursuit of the real shooter."

Armstrong regarded them both with an expression that was as sad as it was grim. "Even so, protocol demands that we treat him as a suspect until proven otherwise."

Even Hawkeye couldn't argue with that. She inclined her head, thoughts rushing through her head. She tried to compile a mental list of every person who worked in the building, starting with those in the offices closest to this one, but it was a futile task. Even with her memory, she was certain several officers had slipped through the cracks. If the crime had taken place at the Eastern Headquarters, she might have been able to trust her judgment, but for something on this scale, she needed Falman. As far as she knew, he was still in the North. General Armstrong had come to Central alone. The realization hit her hard and her head snapped up to look at Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong. No wonder he was so adamant about sticking to the books. With his sister in town to receive her promotion, surely he felt obligated to keep things running as smoothly as possible.

The medics rushed into the office with a stretcher, snapping Hawkeye from her thoughts. Both she and Armstrong stepped back, and Hawkeye pressed one hand lightly to the side of her neck. All that blood—on the floor, on the desk, on the Fuhrer. She had seen her father the same way once, but she had been too late to help by the time she heard his young apprentice screaming her name. Even then, her oldest and dearest friend had been there through it all. He had watched her bleed out as well, and the scar tissue from that day seemed to burn under her fingertips as she wondered why he wasn't here now, while the last of her family was carried away to an unknown fate. And what was she supposed to do? Lead the search to bring Mustang to justice? File a report incriminating him?

She had no time to dwell on her concerns, as General Armstrong swept into the office as soon as the medics had vanished. "What's this I hear about Mustang?" she asked, observing the situation from the doorway. "Staging another coup, is he?"

Hawkeye frowned. Word of the Fuhrer's condition and Mustang's departure had spread far too quickly for her liking. As long as the whisperings stayed within the building, there wouldn't be much reason for concern, but the faster things spread, the more likely information would make it onto the street. The last thing any of them needed was for civilians to find out about the situation.

"We don't know anything yet, sister," Armstrong said, slipping his arms into his jacket.

The General nodded and strode into the room, inspecting it with her sweeping gaze. "It certainly is odd timing," she said, a hint of amusement in her voice. "With the two highest ranked soldiers here at the same time. It almost makes me look like a suspect."

The Lieutenant Colonel's eyes narrowed. "What are you implying?"

"With no named successor, and Mustang out of the way, I'm the obvious candidate to take over, should the Fuhrer die," she explained, examining the furniture for traces of intruders. "Of course, because I am not the mastermind, it puts a target on my back as well."

Hawkeye watched General Armstrong carefully. She certainly had a point. Regardless of who had shot the Fuhrer, the only explanation for the crime was a desire to change the power structure of Amestris, and apart from gaining power and a title, Armstrong would change nothing. And this kind of attack was hardly her style. She had said herself she was most comfortable stationed at Briggs, where survival was difficult and the rules were clear. There wasn't much sneaking around to be done in a place like that.

As other officers began to trickle into the office, General Armstrong gravitated toward the window, keeping her back to the crowd as she tilted her head back. She seemed to be examining that third, stray bullet. If Hawkeye had to make a guess, she would say that was the one that had been fired last. So why, if the first two shots had hit the Fuhrer, had that one been so far off? Had someone stepped in to stop the attack? Frowning, she went to the window as well. Perhaps her reasoning was off. If that shot had been fired first, the person who had interfered might have been knocked aside. But the delay had been between the second and third shots, not the first and second. The buzz of conversation behind her made it impossible to concentrate and she turned to look for the younger Armstrong.

"Wasn't he the Hero of Ishval?" a voice said.

"Yeah," someone else snorted. "He burned it to the ground."

"I heard he spent the past two years rebuilding it."

"Trying to regain favor for a peaceful takeover if you ask me. Remember the rebellion he led against Bradley?"

It was too much, and Hawkeye pursed her lips to keep from correcting them. In spite of everything, it seemed there were still people determined to hate Mustang. And she knew that nothing she said could ever change their minds. If anything, it would only make things worse for the both of them. Loyal subordinate or not, she was a woman, and the reputation he had acquired from his entirely female information network during Bradley's reign still held sway in the popular opinion. She had to pick her battles cautiously or risk getting both of them into much deeper trouble. Unsure of what to do, she hung back to consider her options.

Armstrong strode across the room and placed his hands on her shoulders. "Go home," he said, as though he had read her thoughts. "Call me when you reach East City. You can file your report from there."

There was no point in arguing a direct order at a time like this and Hawkeye knew it. "Yes, sir," she said, snapping a salute before leaving the room. The halls were no longer empty and she tried to keep her chin high, eyes focused somewhere far ahead of her. The way Mustang had always done when surrounded by strangers gossiping about his promotions. When she reached the doors, she locked them behind her before making her way to the main desk. Mustang's jacket still hung over the back of the chair, and his empty coffee cup stood beside the phone. She picked up the phone and dialed the operator before turning to lean against the desk so she wouldn't have to see the reminders that he had been here not even an hour before, safe and wholly innocent of all charges related to treason.

"Hello? This is Major Riza Hawkeye. Please put Second Lieutenant Jean Havoc on the line."

After six rings, the call went through. "Hawkeye? What's going on?" His tone worried her. Could whispers have already made it outside of Central? She shook the thought from her head.

"I'm coming back to East City. Meet me at the station tonight."

"Did something happen? Is the General sending you back?" If anything, Havoc sounded even more concerned.

Hawkeye sighed softly. "The General isn't here."

"Where is he?"

"I don't know," she told him. "No one does."

A long moment silence stretched between them, and Hawkeye started to believe she had lost the call when Havoc spoke again. "I understand. See you tonight." Before she could respond, he hung up, and the click reverberated in her ear.

Leaving Mustang's things at his desk, Hawkeye returned to her own and gathered the paperwork she had finished. After tucking it into her purse, she slung the bag over one shoulder and lifted her coffee cup gingerly. It had grown cold and the smell made her nose wrinkle. The taste was worse as she gulped it down, desperate for the energy it would provide. With the dregs lingering in her mouth, she almost thought it would have been worth the time to make a fresh batch. Almost. But Mustang needed her and time was of the essence.

Still holding the cup, she left the office with one last, pained look at the empty desk before the window. The sight only strengthened her resolve. General Armstrong's words echoed in her head—if someone wanted to take over the country, framing Mustang would be a master stroke, but she had no idea who to suspect. The only thing she knew was that she would find Mustang. She had to.

The break room was crowded, but thankfully, no one seemed to notice as she slipped past to leave her cup in the sink. They were all too intent on speculation, each new idea she heard more outrageous than the last. Rumors of assassins from Drachma, from Aerugo, from Creta swirled around her, and she was almost grateful until the inevitable question of which country Mustang had aligned with sprang up. After that, the suspicions always turned to Xing. The recently completed railway only served as fuel on the fire, and by the time she delivered the completed paperwork, Riza had heard half a dozen variations on Mustang's supposed team of Xingese and Ishvalan cohorts.

At least the courtyard was deserted. The early autumn sunshine eased some of the tension in her shoulders as she walked, although she kept her neck stiff and her head high. A slight breeze lifted her short hair as she stepped through the archway and she took a moment to look out over the city before heading to the stairs. Cars rumbled down the streets and people milled about, apparently oblivious to the turmoil at the heart of the city. It was as though the moat surrounding Central Command delineated a separate world and she was grateful for it. This country—these civilians she had dedicated her life to protect—deserved better than the chill that gripped her heart, and with a miserable flutter in her stomach, she could almost hear Mustang's voice in her ear, whispering that she deserved better as well.

And perhaps she did, once. The girl who had seen his train off from the platform in her hometown might have been worthy of every happiness the world had to offer, but the soldier who had followed him home from the war would find no peace. At least she was of far more use to him now than she might have been as a civilian. Even as his wife, she would have lacked the power to pursue him. Assuming, that is, he would have managed to survive this far without her as his bodyguard. She opened the door and descended the stairs to join the rest of the world.

No one on the street paid her any attention as she walked back to the hotel. Only two blocks from Headquarters, soldiers were a common sight. Her boots rapped sharply across the tiled lobby floor and a little girl looked up at her in wonder as she passed.

"I told you, Mama. Girls can be soldiers too."

Hawkeye paused to look at the woman sympathetically before crouching down in front of the child. She did not know how much time was left before her train departed, but she knew there was time enough for this. "Do you want to be a soldier?" she asked kindly.

The little girl nodded enthusiastically, pigtails bouncing. "Soldiers help people. I want to help people."

"Sometimes, yes," Hawkeye corrected, forcing a smile. "But not always. It's not an easy life. I've seen bad things happen to people I care about. And bad things have happened to me. If you want to help people, there are better paths to take." She stood and turned back to the mother.

"Thank you," she said, blue eyes shining with gratitude.

Hawkeye simply nodded and continued to the elevator, remember another little girl from another lifetime. Winry's latest letter was tucked somewhere in her purse: a photograph of her new baby and an invitation to come out to Resembool when she and Mustang were free. She had written a response on the train, promising to come as soon as possible and enclosing a picture of her own. Now, she regretted sending the letter. There was no way of knowing when or if the two of them would be able to visit. She took her key from the outside pocket as the elevator doors slid open.

The room was exactly as she had left it, the bed made and her book on the nightstand, clothes still folded neatly in the suitcase on the table. The doors that joined her room to Mustang's were still open as well, and she poked her head inside to search for signs of his return. Although he hadn't left his room as tidy as hers, it was obvious no one had been there since they had left. Somewhat downhearted, she shut the doors. Adjoining rooms were sensible for a General and his bodyguard, but if anyone came to inspect his things, an open door might incriminate her as well. Once she was certain that she had all of her belongings, she hurried downstairs to return her keys, hoping there was still enough time to catch the eleven o'clock to East City.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry for the wait! Hopefully I'll be able to finish the next one faster and get it sent off to my wonderful beta, inheritedjeans/flameofarien.**

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The whistle blew at five minutes past eleven. Hawkeye clutched her bag as the train jerked forward. A young couple sat on the bench facing hers, leaning against each other with arms and hands entwined. Longing for the private compartment she usually shared with Mustang, she adjusted her position to stare out the window as Central sped past. Her faint reflection looked back at her with weary eyes, but it was still a more welcoming sight than the dozing lovers. Any bitterness she might once have felt at having tossed the possibility of such a life away had long since dissipated. In its place, she felt sense of duty to those who still had the right choose a comfortable life. And now even that seemed to mock her. Everyone around her served as a reminder that she had failed in her task to keep Mustang safe until he could turn the country into a democracy.

A wave of nausea threatened to choke her and she stood to open the window, hoping the fresh air would help settle her stomach. A crisp breeze carried cool, wet air into the stuffy car and Hawkeye closed her eyes as she settled back into her seat with her bangs fluttering gently against her forehead. She tried to piece together what little she knew about Mustang's disappearance. Captain Arado—the name resonated in Hawkeye's mind. She had known a Lieutenant Arado once as part of her unit in Ishval, though she had never bothered to learn what had become of him after the war. She'd never liked the man enough to care anyway. With his oily brown hair and cold, grey eyes, and that sneer that always curled his lips when he saw her, she had been happy to see the last of him. The very idea that such a man was after Mustang made her feel ill all over again.

By the time the express pulled into East City Station, Hawkeye had only a tentative plan of action. Her growling stomach had finally decided to replace nausea with hunger and she felt slightly groggy from a nap she hadn't meant to take. Havoc stood on the platform looking anxious, and she forced a smile. "Thanks for meeting me here," she said.

"No problem, Major," he said, scratching the back of his neck. "Are you going to tell me what's going on? There was a rumor going around today about—"

"Not here," she interrupted in an undertone. "I'll explain everything once we get back to your apartment."

He raised an eyebrow for a moment before nodding. "Got it." He held out a hand for her suitcase. "Would you like me to take that?"

"No, it's fine," she said.

She led the way out to the street and Havoc moved to walk beside her as the crowd thinned. "You had a nice trip?" he asked

"Quiet," she said. No need to go into detail about how miserable she felt. She wasn't one to need sympathy.

An anxious silence fell between them as they walked. Hawkeye adjusted her purse slightly and lifted a hand to shield her eyes against the late afternoon sun. Havoc's building was only a few blocks from the station, and thankfully deserted. With the elevator roped off, they climbed the three flights of stairs to his floor and Hawkeye sank gratefully onto the sofa once they reached the apartment. Havoc smashed the butt of his cigarette in an ashtray and looked at her expectantly.

"Well?" he said.

"Grumman's in the hospital," she said, leaning forward and resting her chin on her fists.

"And Mustang's gone missing," Havoc mused, moving to sit beside her. "Tell me everything you know."

As she recounted the morning's events, Havoc lit another cigarette without taking his eyes off her. The smell and the story served to take the edge off her hunger and she told him everything she could remember.

"And how do you propose we find him?" Havoc asked when she had finished.

"You can start by packing," she said, sitting up straighter. "I need to make a call. Would it be alright if I used your phone?"

"Go ahead," he said, but as she reached for it, he held up a hand to stop her. "But first, I want to know what you're planning."

"I don't want to explain it twice. You can listen while you pack." She pulled an address book from her purse and flicked through the pages, frowning.

"I need to know what I'm packing for, don't I?" Havoc replied, somewhat irritably as Hawkeye dialed the first number.

While she waited for a response on the other end, she put a hand on the receiver. "Just pack a case like this," she said, nudging her own luggage with her toe.

"Warrant Officer Fuery speaking," said a familiar voice. "Who is this?"

She took her hand off the receiver. "It's me, Major Hawkeye," she said as Havoc disappeared into the other room. "Have you heard what happened in Central this morning?"

Fuery, at least seemed much more informed than Havoc had been, and it took only a few moments to fill him in on the details he had missed. "I need your help," she concluded.

Silence stretched over the line for the space of several moments, and she was afraid he would insist on letting someone else handle this. Armstrong, perhaps. And maybe that would be the sensible thing to do, but when had she ever been sensible when it came to Mustang? Her career meant nothing without someone to push to the top; her only regret about this case was the necessity of roping her friends into another underground mission.

"Whatever you want," he said at last. "I'll do it."

"Thank you." She gripped the phone tighter and turned so her voice would carry into Havoc's bedroom. "I'm going to need you to keep me apprised of the situation in Central once we leave, but you can't let anyone know you're involved."

"I know," he said. "But what about Catalina? Isn't she looking after Hayate for you?"

"Yes, she is, and I'm going to call her later, but for now, I just need someone who can let me know if Mustang is caught before I can get to him." She swallowed hard. "And I'll need to know if they put out warrant for my arrest as well."

"I'll do my best," he promised.

"Thank you. Please be careful," she said before hanging up the phone. Havoc returned to the living room with his suitcase and set it beside hers, an uncharacteristically grim expression on his face.

"Do you really think that's likely?" he asked.

"Do I think what's likely?" she said, getting to her feet and shouldering her purse.

"Warrants being sent out for our arrest."

She shrugged and lifted her suitcase, holding it in front of her legs with both hands. "It's possible. After all, we are abandoning our posts to hunt down a wanted man. And if any damning evidence is found, we might be charged as accomplices on top of that."

"Do you think they'll find anything?" Havoc asked, taking his own case and fumbling in his pocket for a moment before removing his keys.

"I'm certain Mustang didn't do it," she insisted. "I'll stand by that unless he tells me otherwise. Evidence can be fabricated, but he can't lie to me."

"Careful about letting others in on that theory of yours. Would-be-killer or not, there are other laws Mustang's supposed to follow, not to mention yourself."

She knew he was only joking, but the implications hit far closer to home than she cared to admit and she struggled to keep her face expressionless. It hardly seemed to matter what kind of relationship she shared with her commanding officer when her goal to see him as Fuhrer would have been the same regardless of her personal feelings for the man, especially when the possibility of abuse that shaped those laws was nowhere to be found in his personality. "I don't think it matters whose bed he sleeps in when there's a chance Grumman won't make it through the night," she said irritably. He opened his mouth to protest but she cut him off. "Save it. We'll miss the train if we stand here arguing and we might be too late if we have to wait for morning."

"Alright, alright," Havoc relented. "I don't want to know about your love life anyway."

Outside, he snuffed his cigarette on the heel of his shoe and flicked it away. Hawkeye was too tired to bother scolding him. She still hadn't eaten since Mustang had shared his room service with her and she hoped the overnight train would at least stop long enough for her to grab something to eat. Or perhaps they would provide a meal service like the one she had slept through on the express. Street lamps flickered to life as they walked past in the chilly dusk, and as the mist rolled in from the river, the light seemed almost ominous. She shivered slightly, even though she felt plenty warm in her wool uniform.

All at once, Havoc stopped and turned to face her. "Look, Hawkeye, I know we need to find Mustang and ask him what happened, but what about the Fuhrer? When he wakes up, he'll be able to tell everyone what happened."

"If he wakes up," Hawkeye said darkly. "And if he remembers. Even if he does, we don't time to wait around for him."

The station was nearly deserted. A few people milled about, purchasing tickets and saying farewells. No one seemed to notice the soldier and her companion as they boarded the train. Thankfully, the cars were mostly empty, and they found a quiet corner so they wouldn't be disturbed. Hawkeye sat primly on the bench, though she longed to let go of her decorum. Starving and disheveled as she was, she doubted a straight back and level chin would fool anyone.

Dressed as he was in civilian clothes, Havoc slouched and propped his feet up in the empty space beside her. He played absentmindedly with his lighter. Hawkeye thought he might be contemplating smoking another cigarette and she almost hoped he would. The smell would at least do something to take the edge off her hunger. Her stomach growled loudly and Havoc raised his eyebrows.

"Do you need something to eat, Major?" he asked.

"I'll eat later," she said, shaking her head. Unless Havoc had a sleeve of crackers tucked in his suitcase, there wasn't anything to be done about it. Folding her hands in her lap, she leaned her head back against the wall and closed her eyes.

The train pulled into Central as the sun rose, dragging Hawkeye from the restless sleep she had finally drifted into after the last stop. Havoc still slept soundly and she nudged his ankle with her bag until his eyes snapped open. "We here?" he asked, stretching his arms above his head with a shuddering yawn.

She nodded and glanced out the window at the crowded platform, relieved to note a lack of blue uniforms. She had intended to change at Havoc's place, but as short as they were on time, she had eventually decided against it. Now, however, she wished she had taken those few minutes. Armstrong had ordered her back to Eastern Command, and here she was in Central again, dragging Lieutenant Havoc along with her.

They departed the train and Hawkeye made a quick stop in the station's restroom to change into a plain dress and a sweater. She examined her hair in the mirror and rifled through her purse for a comb. After a few quick strokes, she declared it satisfactory and left to find Havoc leaning against the wall outside. He shoved a bagel under her nose and she took it gratefully, although she would have liked a bit of cream cheese to spread on it.

A storm had moved in overnight, carrying rain that splattered against the pavement as they waited for a cab. Droplets struck her face as she wolfed down the last of her meager breakfast and she struggled to swallow without coffee to wash it down. As soon as they got to the hotel, she would make some. A cab pulled up to the curb, splashing up water that soaked the bottom of her dress. The driver apologized as he got out to help them with their bags and Havoc opened the door, motioning for Hawkeye to get in.

The ride to the hotel was a quiet and dreary affair. Traffic moved at a snail's pace through the rain and fog and Hawkeye watched drops race down her window, hoping that, wherever Mustang was, the weather was better than this. For some reason, she just couldn't shake the thought that something bad had happened to him; she chided herself for letting that distract her. Pitying the man wouldn't bring her any closer to him, and neither would missing him. Although it was much harder to stop missing him. She didn't even think it was possible, with his absence as tangible as Havoc's presence. She burrowed deeper into her seat and closed her eyes, trying to think where he could have gone.

Christmas's bar was close to the hotel the taxi was headed for, but it was too obvious a location for Mustang to use as a hideout. And he wouldn't want to endanger his aunt or the girls who worked for her. "Change of plans," she muttered to Havoc.

"What's that?" he asked, turning to face her.

"We're going to need help," she said. "Even if we find Mustang, we still have to worry about clearing his name."

"And how do you suggest we go about that?" he said as the cab screeched to a halt outside a rather dilapidated hotel.

"We're just going to have to hope Fuery's not too busy," she said as they stepped onto the sidewalk. She paid the driver and they carried their bags into a lobby that smelled like boiled asparagus. Wrinkling her nose, Hawkeye approached the counter. "I need two rooms, please. Adjoined, if possible."

The receptionist nodded and passed her a pair of keys. "That'll be eight thousand Cenz, miss."

Hawkeye pocketed the keys and counted out the money, sliding it across the counter.

"Thank you," the receptionist said, counting the bills.

Havoc held out his hand and Hawkeye dropped a key into it as they made their way to the stairs. She didn't trust the elevator any more than the one in Havoc's building. The stairs weren't in much better shape. Rain seeped into the stairwell through cracks around the windows and the wood beneath her feet seemed as though it should have rotted away long ago. At least no one would expect to find the two of them here.

The telephone worked, at least. The dial tone in her ear rang out harsh in comparison to the quiet room. Havoc opened the door to his room and walked over to join her, carrying the smells of cheap coffee and old smoke with him. Both were an improvement over the vague scent of mildew that permeated the room.

"They don't have any milk," he said.

"Black is fine," she told him. "I'm not sure I'd even trust the sugar in a place like this."

He nodded and left the room as the operator answered. She gave her code and waited for Fuery to pick up.

"Hawkeye?" he asked. "You made it to Central?"

"Yes, we did," she said. "Are you alone?"

"Of course. What do you need?"

"I need you to contact Sheska in the records department of Central Command. Tell her to come to room 307 of the Garden Suite Hotel. Tell her it's urgent."

"Yes, Major. Is that all?" he said.

"That's all. Thank you." She hung up the phone and went to the other room, where Havoc sprawled on the bed, staring blankly at the ceiling. She poured coffee into each of the empty mugs on the table and carried them over. He pushed himself to a sitting position and accepted the one she held out.

"How's that plan of yours coming?" he asked, chancing a sip. He grimaced, though whether at the temperature or the flavor, Hawkeye wasn't sure. It was probably both.

She shrugged. "We'll see. Sheska's supposed to come, but who knows how long it will be before she can get away."

"It might not be long at all," Havoc said with a forced smile. "She might just decide to abandon her post immediately."

Hawkeye snorted. Sheska wasn't always the most responsible person, but she wasn't one to run off into the blue. She doubted they would even see the woman until the end of her shift. Dreading the coming hours, she began to sip at her own coffee. At least the heat distracted her from the unpleasant taste. It was almost worse than the coffee she remembered from joint training at Briggs, a feat she would never have imagined possible. She looked over for a moment, half-expecting to see Mustang glaring into his own cup and her heart skipped painfully at the thought.

"You alright, Hawkeye?" Havoc asked.

"I'm fine," she lied. "It's just the coffee. It's terrible."

He didn't look convinced. "If you say so," he said, draining his mug. He placed it on the corner of the nightstand and pushed himself to his feet, moving to stand beside Hawkeye. "We will find Mustang, you know. I promise."

Inclining her head slightly, she turned away. She knew they would, but she still had no idea when or how, and Havoc's reassurance did little to comfort her. If she was right and Mustang was innocent, then there was no need for her to worry, but fear still hung over her, heavy as the clouds outside.


	3. Chapter 3

Sorry for the wait! I'd like to thank inheritedjeans for betaing and all of you for being patient with my slow writing.

* * *

"That's not going to make her shift end any sooner, you know," Havoc said as Hawkeye completed her thirty-seventh circuit of their joined rooms.

"I know," she said, still pacing. She wondered how long he had been biting those words back. In the time since her phone call with Fuery, she had stopped only because Havoc had insisted she sit to eat her lunch. She had even taken a second cup of coffee during her twentieth circuit without missing a step. A thousand questions clamored for her attention, one moving to take another's place with every beat of her frantic heart. Sheska's memory was incredible—there was no denying it—but if she hadn't had access to the information they needed, then Riza had summoned her for nothing. All the risk of revealing that she had brought Havoc back to Central and none of the reward.

Havoc stood and moved to block her path; she stepped deftly around him.

"Look, Hawkeye," he said. "Wearing yourself out isn't going to bring Mustang back." Under his breath, he added, "I knew I shouldn't have given you that second cup."

She considered snapping at him, but thought better of it. He was only trying to help. But it wasn't enough. She didn't need concern—she needed answers. Sheska and her memory and conclusive proof that someone other than Mustang had orchestrated the attack would be nice. At the very least, Riza needed time to move faster and she needed more of it. But all she had was Jean Havoc and the aftertaste of terrible coffee.

"Fine," she said, coming to a halt with her back to Havoc. The caffeine had nearly worn off anyhow, leaving fatigue to set in as her poor night's sleep finally caught up with her. "If I'm not up in half an hour, wake me."

Turning on her heel, Riza returned to her own room to rifle through her suitcase. Her pajamas hadn't been washed since she had left East City with Mustang, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on the fact as she locked herself in the bathroom to change. Even if it was just a nap, she knew she'd never fall asleep comfortably in her clothes, especially with Havoc in the next room. There was nothing professional about going to bed fully dressed, and while she didn't feel the need to keep up appearances for Mustang, she didn't feel so at ease around anyone else. Especially when she had dragged said anyone on a mission that might endanger his career.

When she stepped out of the bathroom, she found the door to Havoc's room was closed and she almost felt grateful. At least a knock would be a more pleasant wakeup call than someone standing over her. Such a pity that the clock was broken, its second hand ticking back and forth at an irregular tempo. She turned down the covers and settled into them, contorting to avoid the springs she could feel jutting up through the mattress. _Relax,_ she ordered herself, closing her eyes. And though her body remained stiffly in its place, her mind, at least, obeyed.

Feeling even groggier than before, Riza woke to the sound of knocking. She kicked back the covers rather lethargically, intent on scolding Havoc for letting her oversleep as soon as she let him in. The orange glow coming through the curtains indicated the sun was close to setting, meaning she had been out for several hours. It wasn't until her feet touched the ground that she realized she had misjudged the source of the sound. Stifling a groan, she made her way over. "Is that you, Sheska?" she asked, fighting back a yawn.

"It's me," a soft voice said through the cracks around the door.

"Would you mind waiting outside a moment? There's something I need to take care of," Hawkeye said.

"That's perfectly fine, Major," Sheska called back. Hawkeye winced at the title. Perhaps she should have reminded Fuery to emphasize that she wasn't supposed to be here.

Hawkeye stepped into the bathroom to change, pulling her clothes on quickly then running a comb through her hair. When she looked in the mirror, it was still rumpled, and the dark circles under her eyes hadn't lightened even one shade, but it would have to do. She gave a few sharp raps on the shared door, eliciting a surprisingly loud, sleepy groan from the other side. Returning to the hall door, she unlocked it and waved Sheska inside. "Thank you for waiting."

"It's no trouble. I didn't expect to see you back in Central so soon, though, Major," she said, adjusting her glasses nervously.

"I assume Fuery mentioned that I'm not technically supposed to be here?" Hawkeye replied.

Sheska nodded. "Of course. Although, if it's any comfort, I think the others are on your side. Lieutenant Colonel Armstrong told me—well, he told me he hoped to find evidence that it was someone else. And Maria Ross has been working overtime for the same reason. Even Captain Arado seemed a little down when he reported losing Mustang in the stairwell."

"Captain Arado?" Hawkeye echoed, raising her eyebrows. "Are you sure he wasn't just upset missed the opportunity of having captured a wanted man?"

Shrugging, Sheska looked down and shifted her weight uncertainly from foot to foot. "Actually, it might have something to do with Armstrong keeping him here as part of the investigation. He was granted leave to visit his dying mother, but it's been rescinded."

Hawkeye frowned. Of all the people to request leave to visit a relative, she would have put Arado toward the bottom of the list, whether the relative in question was dying or not. "Do you know where his mother lives?"

"Somewhere in the South," Sheska said, glancing up at the ceiling as she raised a finger to the corner of her lips. Her eyes lit up when she remembered. "Resit, near the border. Why do you ask?"

"I was just curious," Hawkeye explained. "He was in my unit once. In Ishval." No need to give away her suspicions just yet. For all she knew, it was just a coincidence that the man had requested leave the same weekend an elaborate plot had unfolded with him as the most useful witness, though she wasn't as keen on giving Arado the benefit of the doubt as she was Mustang.

Sheska still looked curious, but any further questions she might have had were disrupted when Havoc walked into the room. From the wrinkles in his shirt, Hawkeye guessed he hadn't bothered changing before falling asleep, but he still looked more put together than she felt. He pulled a chair out from the table, turned it, then sat with his arms folded across the back. "Don't mind me," he said. "Go on."

Looking uncertainly from Havoc to Hawkeye, Sheska continued, "Is information on the investigation all you wanted?"

Hawkeye shook her head. "Have a seat," she said, gesturing toward the table. "Thank you for keeping me apprised, but what I really need is a different sort of information. I want a list of every person who has worked at Central Command since Grumman came into power. I need departments, commanding officers, dates—anything you can remember. Can you do that for me?"

If Sheska found the request strange, she didn't show it. She simply inclined her head a moment before saying, "Yes, Major. Would you like me to bring it here when I finish? Or would you like me to start right away?"

"How long would it take you?" Hawkeye asked, glancing at the window. The orange glow had already begun to fade.

She placed a finger beside her lips, tapping it thoughtfully. "Tomorrow is my day off, so if I work through the night, I should be able to finish sometime in the evening."

Hawkeye looked to Havoc, who nodded slightly, then turned her attention back to Sheska. "Don't overexert yourself," she said. "Do what you can tonight, then go home and get some rest."

"Yes, Major." Sheska pulled a pen from her purse then reached for the stack of hotel stationery. As Havoc pushed it closer to her, Hawkeye stood and took up pacing again. This time, she confined herself to the space between the door and the bed. She didn't want to disturb Sheska.

The room darkened. Havoc left and returned with more paper and take out. Hawkeye sat to eat without a word from either of her companions. As she ate, she watched the ever-growing stack of completed sheets and her fingers itched as she contemplated exchanging her fork for a pen. If she was right and Arado wasn't being entirely truthful about his knowledge of Mustang's disappearance, then the first thing to do was to cross out all the people whose time in Central didn't overlap with his. She doubted he could pull this off by himself, and there was no reason to suspect anyone who hadn't been close to him.

Havoc finished first. He shoved his plate aside and reached for the stack of documents. "This is incredible," he said, looking over the first sheet.

Sheska didn't seem to hear him but Hawkeye nodded, swallowing the last of her dinner. Even more impressive, in her opinion, was Sheska's ability to eat with one hand while writing with the other.

As she skimmed the first page, pen in hand, Hawkeye realized it was pointless to start crossing off names when she didn't even know the specifications of Arado's time in Central. On the corner of a napkin, she scribbled out a message to Havoc: _Look for Arado first. _

He frowned at the blotchy ink for a moment before nodding.

The three of them worked to the sounds of rustling paper and the almost-constant scratching of Sheska's pen until Havoc pushed his chair back abruptly. The two women looked up in surprise as the legs scraped the floor. "Just making coffee," he said. "Want some?"

"Yes, please," Sheksa said. Hawkeye nodded.

Three cups later, with the sun rising outside, Havoc slipped a page into Hawkeye's lap. She stared at the blurred letters in confusion until she spotted a shaky circle traced around one of the entries. Blinking rapidly, she forced herself to focus until the words became clear. Lieutenant James Arado: stationed at Central Command immediately following the end of the Ishvalan War where he served as General Raven's aide until the spring of 1915.

"Change of plans," she muttered, remembering what Raven had been like in the end. She tried to remember if any of the other names had been associated with his, but in her desperation to find Arado, she hadn't paid enough attention to anyone else. Even the time she had spent working under Bradley was of no use: she had never worked with Raven or his men directly. Perhaps Falman would have learned their names in her situation, but that hardly mattered now. All she knew was that it was partly Raven's fault she had been reassigned in the first place, which only heightened her suspicions. He had turned his back on Grumman and betrayed Mustang, so why shouldn't his subordinate do the same?

She placed the paper neatly on top of the stack she had already sorted through then turned to Sheska. "I'm sorry we kept you here all night," she said. "You can go home now."

"Are you sure? There's still a lot left." The pen fell from her fingers and she massaged her hand for a moment before picking it up again.

"Finish it after you've slept," Hawkeye said. She leaned over to rifle through her purse for a paperclip. "When you do, I want you to send it to Fuery."

Sheska handed her the page she had just completed. "What about you?"

"There's something else I need to investigate," she said.

"Of course." Getting to her feet, Sheska slung her purse over one shoulder and dropped the pen into it.

Hawkeye followed her to the door. "Thank you, Sheska. Take care."

"You too." She waved as she left, pulling the door closed behind her.

By the time Hawkeye returned to the table, Havoc had fallen asleep. She tugged the papers out from under his arm and placed them in a folder, making certain that the one containing information about Arado was still on top. "What're you doing?" he said without opening his eyes.

"Leaving. We'll sleep on the train," she said.

"Again? But we just got here." He looked more resigned than defiant as he forced himself up, which was only mildly encouraging.

Hawkeye gave a stiff nod. "We have a lead and we might not have much time."

Without a word, Havoc shuffled out of the room, presumably to pack. Hawkeye watched him leave, surprised at how lonely she felt in the drafty room. She was used to spending mornings alone, but the cold and her exhaustion had brought such a strong wave of melancholy that even sunrise couldn't chase it away. She almost reached for the phone. Back home, Rebecca would already be awake. She might even welcome a call from her friend, but hers wasn't the voice Hawkeye wanted to hear. On days like this, when she felt as though the morning would never truly come, she always went to Mustang. Sometimes, he was already there, glaring into his coffee, but when he wasn't, he answered the phone before the first ring had finished. As though he were as desperate to talk to her as she was to him.

She turned away from the phone. Instead, she latched her suitcase and tried to remember if she knew anything about Resit. Even the name was unfamiliar, nothing more than a word she might once have memorized for a geography test, only to forget it in the years that followed. If Mustang was even there, she would have a job finding him. She couldn't even ask Sheska for information about Arado's mother—assuming the story had any grounds in the truth—without arousing suspicion.

"I'm ready when you are," Havoc said, making her jump. She hadn't even heard him return.

"Let's go," she said.

Slinging her purse over one shoulder, she lifted her suitcase and led the way to the lobby. They returned the keys, paid for the rooms, walked outside with eyes half-closed against the blinding white sky. Havoc fell asleep in the taxi, but Hawkeye forced herself awake every time she felt herself drifting.

They stepped into the station side by side, and she kept one arm poised to support Havoc in case he slumped over again. It took all her concentration to purchase the tickets, the numbers on the coins blurring together as she asked for the total a second—third—fourth time. As they made their way to the train, Hawkeye bumped into a woman, slurring out an apology as she continued walking.

"Riza?" someone called out. "What are you doing here?"

Feeling more awake than she had in the past forty-eight hours, Hawkeye stopped. "Rebecca? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me. Fuery told me you two were in Central so I came to help since I have the next two days off," she said, glancing from Hawkeye to Havoc with growing concern. "But I guess I should have saved the trip."

"We're not going home just yet," Hawkeye said under her breath. She held out the ticket for her friend to read.

Rebecca's eyes narrowed slightly. "Do you want me to come?"

"If you're willing to risk your career for—what did you call Mustang again?" Havoc asked. "I forgot."

"Stupid womanizing bastard of a general?" she said, fishing through her purse. "I'm not doing it for him. I'm doing it so Riza will get some sleep before she collapses."

Hawkeye shook her head. As worried as she was about dragging another person into this mess, she was always glad to see her best friend. "Thanks," she said. "I'm glad to have you along."


End file.
